I am not sure what mental quirk, not a medical term, takes place in brain wave synapses, a medical term, triggers a memory which in turn elicits a mental response, but I know they happen; happened to me recently. In this instance, I was sitting in the Auditorium (I am of a generation that uses that term because the amount of keyboard time it takes to identify the building by its proper name is just too long) and amid a high school student production I was briefly transported to an afternoon 50-plus years ago. The message I received that day, a one-sentence critique, was one I have often had to accept and swallow over the years; this is one of those times.
In fall 1969, I was in my third semester in Mr. Leger’s speech class; I had gotten permission to enroll as a sophomore, the only one in the class, and again as a junior. It was normally a one-time class so the second and third times in the class I was given increased assignments, one of which was that I must enter the Lion’s Student Speaker Competition; which I did, twice. I remember part of the day clearly, the class walking across the campus to the Auditorium and then looking down upon the audience of peers from behind the podium placed downstage right next to the curved stepway to the stage.
Not all the class gave speeches that day, I don’t remember how many, three or four, but all of us were expected to write a brief critique of each speech. I can still see Pepper’s handwritten response to my speech (his name wasn’t really Pepper, of course, it was Burt, but no one called him anything but Pepper), it read as follows, with my censorship: “You are too d—ned cynical!” I placed first in the speech contest, and when I came across a copy of that speech a few months ago I read it and had to agree Pepper was right.
I did not come from a highly charged political family; I knew my parents voted Republican, but that was about all I knew because I recall only political observations, not discussions of issues. I knew from an early age my father did not like Roosevelt (Franklin, that is) nor the Kennedys, apparently all of them, but not because they were Democrats but because they were rich. I gathered later that was an opinion of the rich held by many of those who lived through the Great Depression of the 1930s. This surface interest in politics is a position, consciously or not, I maintained for most of my adult life; I really did not care who was running the country if I could maintain enough income to keep my head above water, as they say.
That was not a station in life I held alone, many Americas were and are in the same situation, and although I always voted for a president, I never really saw much difference in post-election daily life so rarely ventured into the realm of politics. Of late, I swam too much in political waters and nearly drown in cynicism; time to get back to a path of solid ground.
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With one of the Big Three End-of-the-Year Days behind us, Day Two and Day Three rapidly approach. Given the late date of the annual turkey and trimmings feast, there are, as of this writing, only 21 days until Christmas morn and 27 until the eve of the new year. Let me tout one event upcoming locally where residents can partake of festivities.
I am sure you can still get an entry application to participate in the King City Chamber of Commerce and Agriculture’s Annual Lighted Christmas Parade, which will grace the downtown area in two days. And if not a participant, then bundle up, head down to Broadway from Mildred to Second Street and grab a space on the sidewalk for a free show passing right before your eyes. During and after the parade, the Town Square zocalo is full of food, music and, of course, the Big Man from the North Pole will make an appearance. Refer to the Chamber’s website for details.
***
One of the things I miss is the local availability of newspapers from various cities across the land. There was a time in Greenfield, and in the other Valley towns, when one could purchase newspapers from Gonzales, Soledad, Greenfield, King City, Salinas, Monterey, San Jose, San Mateo, San Francisco, Oakland, Los Angeles and New York City. Back in my Hartnell College days, we in the theatre arts took the lofty position that all things Hollywood were superficial whereas Broadway, New York’s Broadway, was the only true acting art form and as such we gobbled up newspapers from that city. (Over the years it was through these publications that I became aware of and drew conclusions about one Donald J. Trump; but I digress).
And, one of the things I miss most about the loss of those publications is the puzzle page; especially the New York Times crossword. I enjoy words, and the activity of solving a difficult crossword was something I could do for hours with the knowledge that I was increasing my vocabulary while doing so. There was a time, a recent time, when in either the Thanksgiving or Christmas editions one of the local area newspapers ran a full-page crossword puzzle that took a couple of days to solve; I don’t remember if this was in the Salinas or Monterey papers, but pretty sure it was not any of our Valley editions.
I miss the challenge of sticking with that behemoth of a puzzle until either I filled every answer or was defeated in the attempt. Once while in Manhattan I purchased a London Times from a sidewalk kiosk and took on the highly erudite crossword found in that publication; I don’t want to talk about it.
Take care. Peace.
